


With a Faery, Hand in Hand

by Narya_Flame



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame
Summary: Five years later, as the nights grew long and the cruel snows fell, Rimoete went back to the hall....A companion piece to my ficCome Away, O Human Child.You probably want to read that first, or this won't make a lot of sense.
Relationships: Daughter of Aotrou and Itroun & Son of Aotrou and Itroun
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Festival of Lights Fest





	With a Faery, Hand in Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Come Away, O Human Child](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508968) by [Narya_Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame). 



> My very belated contribution to the Festival of Lights Fest.

Five years later, as the nights grew long and the cruel snows fell, Rimoete went back to the hall.

She did not go in through the gates. Instead she crept into the bailey at the low, broken place she and Mael used to vault when they ran away from their nurse. She had known it would still be there – but it would not do. Next time, it might not be a friend who sought a way into their keep.

Gently, she reached for the power that welled like a fount inside her. _You should attend to your battlements, brother mine._

She smiled as his joy broke through her, fierce and warm, and sharp with longing and pain. _Rimoete? Are you there? Tell me you're there, tell me that this is no dream..._

 _I'm here._ She sent a reassuring caress through his mind. _Say nothing. Do nothing. I will come to you._

Inside, laughter rang through the walls. She followed its sound to the inner courtyard. Gold light gleamed in the feasthall windows, and the smell of fried cakes hung in the air. Rimoete peered in through a window. At a nearby table, Hocar was playing dice with some of Mael's retinue; platters and goblets gleamed in the candlelight; on a dais, her brother drank wine with his wife. A merry night, then. Good – that was good. _Mael?_

She saw his head lift. _I hear you. I feel you._ He looked around. _How is this possible?_

_It is one of our gifts. She taught me to use it._

_The witch?_ She saw his shoulders stiffen. _You found her._

_I did. And she is not as Hocar would have had us believe._

She felt his mind turning this over. _No. No, I did not think she would be._ He raised his head again, his eyes searching through the crowd. _You're outside, yes?_

_I'm waiting by the door._

He kissed his wife – a raven-haired beauty with grey, clear eyes, who smiled like an early spring moon – and he slid through the gathered crowds. Not too quickly, Rimoete noted with approval. He stopped to speak with all who hailed him, and gave no sign of being hurried.

_Hocar taught him well._

Mael vanished from view. The feasthall door opened; light spilled onto the snow, and singing and cheering rang through the night – and then the door closed once more, and in the shadows and starlight, she found her brother's arms.

“I knew you were alive.” He held her close and kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her hair. “They all said you were dead, or stolen away, but I wouldn't believe it.”

“Neither dead nor stolen, no.”

“You left me. _Why?_ ”

Rimoete pressed her nose into his cloak. He still smelled of sea-salt and dune-grass. “Would you have let me go?”

“You know I would.” Gently, he shook her; she cupped his cheek, and he rested his brow against hers. His fingers, calloused from shooting and swordplay, stroked the tear-trails that gleamed on her skin. “Why did you never come back?”

“Oh, my dear.” Her heart ached as she pressed herself against him. “I was where I belonged. You were where you had to be. How could I ask you to live in two worlds at once?”

He took a breath and stepped back. “So you do not intend to stay now.”

“No. No, I cannot stay.” She smiled up at him. “But I have my ways of hearing news. I had to see you. Congratulations, dear heart.”

He laughed, and ran a hand through his mop of curls. “I can scarce believe it. Twins run in our family, it seems.”

“And a boy and a girl, at that.”

“Just like us.” He shook his head, seeming almost dazed. “How did you know?”

Rimoete shrugged. “I knew.”

“The witch?”

“The land. The birds.” She paused. “The water.”

Another sharp breath. In the gloom of the night, his eyes grew hard. “The songs of the waters were _my_ gift.”

“I know.” 

He looked away, his breath clouding in the frozen air. A great cheer rose up inside the hall, and a mug clattered to the floor. It seemed a drinking contest was underway.

“I'm sorry, Mael.”

He was silent for a long moment, then he turned back and met her gaze. “Rimoete, the twins...will they be like us?”

“They might be.” She laid a careful hand on his wrist. “But then again they might not. I could not say, not without seeing them.” Longing rose in her, a deep, sweet call as strong as the voice that had whispered her into the woods – to hold her brother's children in her arms! – but no. “And I will not do that. I will not interfere.”

Slowly, Mael nodded. “I think I understand.” Yearning as deep as the ocean shadowed his face, and he took his hands in hers. “May I not go back with you?”

“You don't mean that – and if you do, you're a fool. You're needed here.” Gently reproachful, she pinched his sleeve. “What would your wife say if you ran away to the woods? Besides, our people need heirs – _good_ heirs, who will grow to be true and just rulers. Those children need someone to look up to, and learn from, and love. Hocar is too old to play father to two more babes.”

Mael laughed again, and drew her close. “But one day?”

“Perhaps.” She sighed. “Not yet.” 

“I missed you every moment you were away.”

A kiss on his cheek; a squeeze of the hand. “I know. Be well, my dear. Be happy.” She brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, as she used to when they were young. “And mend that broken wall.”


End file.
